


Anyone Ever Tell You That You Look Just Like...

by Brenda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Political Animals
Genre: (No Bucky In This 'Verse), Banter, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, Meet-Cute, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Series, Steve Gets Arrested More Than He Gets Hot Meals, These Two Are Not Subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: Steve gives those endless legs another quick, appreciative glance, then relaxes his shoulders and leans in.  "Unless you've got lasers for eyes," he murmurs, "I'm not sure scowling like that's gonna help you bust out of here."The guy looks over, startled.  "Who says I don't?" he asks mildly, then slides the hoodie off his head, andhuh.It looks like Steve's evening just got alotmore interesting.





	Anyone Ever Tell You That You Look Just Like...

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2016 as a birthday ficlet

"I'm really sorry, Captain," the officer repeats, all sheepishness and nerves and skittering looks, as she uncuffs Steve so he can be fingerprinted and photographed for processing. She looks new on the job, Steve idly thinks. This is most likely her superior's idea of hazing the rookie, sticking her with the Unruly National Icon (thanks, Fox News) to see if she'd sink or swim.

"It's fine," he repeats, summoning a small smile of comfort as he allows her to roll his fingers in the ink. "You're just doing your job. You have nothing to feel sorry for."

It's not like he's a stranger to getting arrested, despite the embarrassingly erroneous picture history's managed to paint of him. Before the serum, he'd been a regular visitor at his precinct, hauled down for a variety of charges ranging from disturbing the peace to being a public nuisance. He'd never done time – in fact, the charges had almost always been dropped, mostly because the judges hadn't taken him seriously as a threat, considering his small size. But he's still well-used to this song and dance, in spite of the fact that it's been awhile.

"No one blames you," he adds, because there's no reason she should feel bad for his sake. "I knew what I was doing."

And he'd do it all over again, impending lecture from Fury be damned. What's the point of having a platform and a following and the means to make his voice heard above the fray if he's not going to use it to try to affect lasting change? It's past time this century gets to know the real Steve Rogers, anyway, no matter how much of a headache it'll be for SHIELD's publicity machine.

The booking officer finishes processing him, then leads him to the large holding cell. The benches are already filled with other guests of the NYPD, but no one so much as glances up at him when he steps inside. (Which is New York in a nutshell, and why he'll never live anywhere else.) He's feeling too jittery to sit anyway, so he makes his way to the back corner. The only other person there is standing slouched against the bricks, arms crossed over his chest, his long legs encased in thigh-hugging black jeans. And even with his face shadowed by his black hoodie, it's clear the other guy is glaring daggers at the bars of the cell like they've personally offended him.

Steve gives those endless legs a quick, appreciative glance, then relaxes his shoulders and leans in. "Unless you've got lasers for eyes," he murmurs, "I'm not sure scowling like that's gonna help you bust out of here."

The guy looks over, startled. "Who says I don't?" he asks mildly, then slides the hoodie off his head, and _huh_.

It looks like Steve's evening just got a _lot_ more interesting.

"That'd be a neat party trick," Steve replies. He glances over again and, yeah, there's no mistaking those full, pouty lips. Or the sexily rumpled dark hair, the seductive tilt to aquamarine eyes, and the sharp cheekbones and even sharper jawline.

"I'm full of party tricks, ask anyone." Then the corners of that sinful mouth turn up in another grin as those hooded eyes slide their slow way along Steve's body, the look blatant and _very_ thorough. "But I bet you'd know all about that, wouldn't you."

Steve tumbles all the way from mild flirtation into full-on lust with a capital L. He's never been able to resist a challenge, especially not when it's in such attractive packaging.

"I do alright," he replies, matching the look with his own. Interest engaged and most definitely returned.

One eyebrow quirks up. "So. Anyone ever tell you you look just like Captain America?"

"Only every day," Steve says, because they may as well get it out of the way now so they can move onto more pertinent topics. Like how soon they can both make bail and go somewhere a lot more private. "Anyone ever tell you you look just like President Barrish's son?"

"Only every day," comes the rueful reply. Then he holds out a hand. "TJ Hammond, current scourge of the White House, at your service."

Steve takes it, noting both the firmness of TJ's grip and the softness of his skin. He wonders how good that grip would feel on other parts of his anatomy. "Steve Rogers, current scourge of the Avengers, at yours."

TJ scoots a little closer, until his shoulder is warm and solid against Steve's. "So, tell me, Captain." He makes Steve's title sound like a caress. "How'd America's favorite patriot wind up in the pokey?"

"The pokey, really? And people call me old-fashioned," Steve chuckles, and inches closer himself. Their fingers brush together, barely touching, but Steve's body flushes hot all over at the contact. "Protest at Trump Tower got a little out of hand, and I figured better me getting arrested than some of the other people with me."

"Protest, huh?" The speculative gleam in those blue eyes is doing things for Steve that are highly inappropriate and ill-advised as all hell, considering their current location. (Not that Steve's dick gives a good goddamn about propriety. But then, his dick, much like the rest of him, has terrible judgement and even worse self-preservation.) 

"Did you punch anyone?" TJ asks. "Did you punch Trump? Please say yes."

"Sorry, no. But only because he wasn't there, not because I don't want to," Steve replies, returning the smirk with his own. "What about you? Shouldn't you have a security detail that keeps you out of jail cells?"

"Please, I've been ditching my detail since I was 13," TJ scoffs. Then he turns his head, his lips ghosting against the shell of Steve's ear. "You have any idea how hard it is to get laid when you have Secret Service trailing you everywhere?"

Steve suppresses the shiver. TJ's breath is hot on his neck, temptation of the very best kind. "Kind of," he says softly, peering at TJ from under his lashes. Matching TJ's seduction with his own, another challenge met and answered. "Not with Secret Service, but certain governmental agencies love to try to cockblock me at inopportune moments."

TJ's lips lift, playful, flirtatious. "Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. But I bet, as smart as you are, you're really good at finding ways to get what you want."

"It's not all saving the world twice before bedtime," Steve says, and tangles his fingers with TJ's. Upping the ante. "I've got a lot of other talents, if you were interested in hearing about them."

TJ glances down at their fingers, then up. This close, Steve can make out the darker cobalt surrounding the outer edge of TJ's irises. " _And_ he's got game," TJ comments. "You're just full of surprises, Steve Rogers."

"Does that mean you'd be interested in grabbing a drink after we get sprung from this joint?"

"Depends," TJ says, the tip of his tongue escaping just far enough to wet his bottom lip. "Would this drink be at your place?"

Steve swallows and tries not to look too closely at the spit-slick shine of TJ's lips. "I'm sure I have something on hand to suit your palate."

TJ's gaze drops to Steve's mouth, then lower. "I'm sure you do," he murmurs, then shifts back far enough to look Steve directly in the eyes. "Captain America picking up strange men in a jail cell. What would your adoring public think?"

Steve doesn't bother to temper the laugh. He's never once given a flying fuck what the public thinks about him. "The only thing they should think is I have excellent taste in men."

TJ's answering laugh is impish, infectious, music to Steve's ears. "Smooth, I like it. And the answer's yes, by the way."

"Good," Steve replies, then takes a steadying breath. They really need to change the subject before he adds public indecency to the list of charges against him. Which, speaking of…

"Why are you locked up, anyway?" he asks.

"Same reason you are. Protesting," TJ elaborates, when Steve raises an eyebrow. "Well, more like B&E and trespassing, but it was for a good cause, I swear."

"I'm listening."

"Yeah, I guess we have a little time," TJ says, and settles against the wall again, tightens his fingers against Steve's. "So, what do you want to know?"

Steve squeezes back, and smiles. "Start at the beginning."

***


End file.
